Other than that, it was dreadfully quiet in the room. The clock on the mantel, a clock that had once graced the boudoir of Marie Antoinette, ticked on and on. Caroline stared uncomprehendingly at Lady Catherine, affronted by the Countess’s error. “Your ladyship has been greatly misinformed, most likely by Miss Bennet here.” Caroline looked angrily at Lizzy. “I am no tradesperson.” Her nostrils twitched at the mere scent of that word. She pulled herself up into a most majestic seated posture.
The condescension apparent in Lady Catherine’s voice of before turned cold and hard. So did her eyes. “You must forgive me, madam. I was unaware before this that you are ill.” Her eyes did not move; in fact, she momentarily did not look human. “Evidently you are experiencing the unfortunate effects of continuous brain seizures.”
Caroline’s natural color completely deserted her, leaving only the painted surface.
Lizzy stopped in midsip, her gaze darting back and forth over her cup, between the women.
Anne sneezed.
“Sorry…? What…?” Caroline sat rigidly on her chair. Her eyes were blinking wildly.
“My niece has already twice informed you of her name; however, as yet you seem incapable of retaining that small parcel of information.” Caroline’s eyes moved from Lady Catherine to Lizzy and then to Anne. Caroline returned her gaze back to Lady Catherine.
“But, if indeed you are not someone who has, unfortunately, become mentally impaired through disease or accident, then, I must say you have adopted a most impertinent attitude for a seamstress.” A small, thin smile broke the gravity of Catherine’s face, and her eyes became oddly merry again. “And, I would modify your prior comment to state that, although you are, indeed, a tradesperson, you are apparently not a very good one. You will never be a great success with this offensive sort of attitude.”
“I-I-I don’t understand what you are saying, your ladyship.”
“Are you not Miss Bagley, the seamstress my dear friend Lady Jersey recommended?” Aunt Catherine raised her quizzing glass.
“No, madam, I most certainly am not!” A brilliant flush of color rushed to Caroline’s face and was spreading from her cheeks into her bodice. In her indignation, she began to rock forward and back on the chair.
“Just who are you, then? Who are your people?” Catherine snapped open her fan and worked it vigorously. “By what counterfeit means have you gained entrance into my home?” Her eyes flashed with indignation. Quietly, Jamison and two footmen entered the room.
“My name is Bingley, Lady Catherine. Caroline Bingley.”
“Bingley? Bingley? I have never heard of such an odd name. Are you quite sure?”
Unaware how to answer that question, Caroline opened and then closed her mouth. “Of course I am quite sure! It is my name, madam! How would I confuse it?”
“ Bingley?! No, no, no, that’s too absurd. Are you having fun with me, missy? ‘Bamming me,’ as the young and uncouth would say? I must caution you, it is well known that I do not approve of merriment in any manner, very bad for the humors. Merciful heavens, Bingley indeed! How you can sit there and presume… I believe that is a variety of produce, anyway. No, no, no, you must be mistaken.” With that final proclamation, Catherine proceeded to flatten out the pleats on her skirt and closed her fan.
Caroline was as bright red in her face as in her hair. “I assure you, Lady Catherine, my name is Bingley! Bingley!” If steam could truly be produced by the human body, it would by this time be escaping through Caroline’s ears.
Lady Catherine turned toward Elizabeth. “Is this person actually known to you, or is she merely aspiring to an association with her betters?”
Elizabeth could hardly speak. She cleared her throat. “Yes, actually, I do know her, Aunt Catherine.” Not wishing to expose her enjoyment, Elizabeth tried to enunciate from behind her teacup. “My sister Jane Bingley is married to her brother, Charles. Charles Bingley.” Adding the name Bingley again so often had not been necessary, but it had been fun, so Elizabeth couldn’t resist throwing it out there once again. “They have just had a daughter, Marianne Louise Bingley.”
“Good Lord, more Bingleys?!” Aunt Catherine’s eyes were ablaze. “Madam, I must tell you that I have a total of ten greenhouses on this estate alone and have no need of your fruits and vegetables. You will fail miserably in this business if you are as sloppy with your research as this indicates.”
“Your ladyship!” Caroline screamed. “We are not fruit vendors! Or street merchants! And we are also not common snipes like your niece here and her ragamuffin family!”
The quiet that followed was dreadful. Truly dreadful. Lady Catherine arose slowly, all color absent from her face. She loudly slammed the business end of her walking stick onto the floor.
“My good woman, you are speaking of my niece! A member of my family. Married to my nephew. Her father is a gentleman, who has just left this house having been my guest for two weeks.”
Caroline sat back and stared at Lady Catherine in mute shock.
“I believe I can speak for myself and for both Mrs. Darcy and my daughter, that we are no longer interested in your produce, or whatever it is you have come to sell. Take your samples and good day to you, madam! I say good day to you, and I mean it most heartily!”
Turning aside, she motioned to her butler. “Jamison, please show Mrs. Bagley out. Through the service door, Jamison! Not the front!”
Jamison had taken Caroline’s elbow and was leading her, when Lady Catherine clarified her orders. He quickly switched directions, toward the service entrance, and Caroline was gone.
It was very quiet for several seconds, when suddenly Anne blew her nose and sniffled. Lady Catherine patted down some stray hairs on the side of her coiffure as she turned to Lizzy. “Well, that was rather enjoyable, wasn’t it?”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped.
Catherine began to rise from her seat. “You know, dear, I don’t believe we should wait dinner for Darcy. It looks like the rain may be delaying his return from your father’s. I do believe he would be very vexed with me if you postponed your dinner too long.”
Just then Fitzwilliam came running into the room.
“I came as quickly as I could. Is everything all right?” He stole a worried glance at Elizabeth.
She looked like the cat that had gotten into the cream. “Oh, yes, everything is quite splendid, thank you.” Elizabeth reached for his proffered hand. With the proper momentum and one or two false starts, she was even able to rise from her chair. “I am famished!”
Darcy had indeed delayed leaving Mr. Bennet’s house to return to Rosings after a light drizzle had churned the roads and slowed their journey. Mr. Bennet found he was not looking forward to an evening alone and begged Darcy to stay for early dinner, a favor which Darcy could hardly refuse. Kitty and Mary had been in London with their aunt and uncle Gardiner and were due to return later that week.
Although eager to return to Elizabeth, he was glad that the last two weeks had given him the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with her father, and wanted to continue in the man’s good graces. They had surprisingly much in common—a love of books, an interest in horticulture, and a mutual devotion and respect for a certain young lady.
When the light dinner was served in his library and a fire made to warm the room, Mr. Bennet began to show his son-in-law some of his most favored manuscripts and drawings. Dusty books were dragged out from under piles of writings, and original sketches from a variety of well-known artists were thrown in stacks next to new plantings being readied for his experimental garden.